


Any Way I Can

by TatyanaIvanshov



Series: Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [7]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Healing, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 02, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov
Summary: After The Chevalier almost shot himself, Monsieur finds him in the middle of the night and they stay together until morning.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Series: Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873663
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	Any Way I Can

**Author's Note:**

> Depiction of PTSD  
> This scene goes right after The Chevalier almost shot himself in Season 2 of Versailles

A nearby presence stirs the Chevalier awake. He fights to peel his lids open as sleep lays heavily on them but when he spots Philippe staring down at him with swollen eyes and a ruffled head of hair, the pain in his chest stirs him awake and he props himself up on his elbows. Though, Philippe seems not to like that. 

“Shhh… Stay. Do not move.” He whispers to the Chevalier as the forgiving hand he uses to brush back his hair rests itself on the Chevalier's cheek, bringing him comfort but alarming him as well. 

Why was he here? Has he come to save me from the conjuring of my mind at night, just as I had pictured him doing too often before? Are all those nights where I imagined him coming into my chambers, my bed, to comfort me and ease my emptiness becoming reality? The Chevalier scrambles to make it last, reminding himself to enjoy it. To enjoy his presence and kindness. It may be taken away at any moment. It has. Certain night, they may have found comfort in bed, but sure enough, with the rising sun, he’d become a distant memory from the prior evening’s events, leaving Lorraine to wish he would return once more along with that night. 

But there are nights we fall in love with, that we can never replicate. 

“Wha-? Have you been drinking?” Chevalier notices the pungent smell of his breath as he scoots closer to the edge of the bed where his lover kneels. 

“You are aware of my fondness for French wine.” He slurs, pushing himself to his feet and hopping over to the table where more wine sits. He begins to chug down the contents of the bottle before he feels the Chevalier yank it away, unleashing from Philippe a groan of displeasure. 

“Why are you here. I thought you’d be off with your wife or perhaps your new lover. He was dancing in the courtyard earlier, what a delightful sight that must’ve been.” Lorraine watches Monsieur plop down on his bed, a pout making his lips. He looked like a child, so pure and kind and yet he held nothing close to the innocence of one. 

“I hate you.” He murmurs as tears well up in his bright, grey eyes, that the Chevalier loves so deeply. But those eyes had pierced into him with not a hint of remorse as Lorraine went through aching pain, and they had done nothing. 

“I have noticed that much.” He whispers to himself while strolling back into his bed. But he is cut short by Philippe’s tight grip on his arm, pulling him down towards the cold floor that Chevalier finds himself kneeling upon, between Philippe’s legs. 

“Must you be so cold towards me?” For the first time, he notices the tears that have graced Monsieur’s eyes and he feels a tight stir in his chest. What is he on about? 

“Forgive me, my dear, but aren’t you the one that’s been putting me through hell these past few days. I have been restless and now you come to me, in shambles-” 

“Lorraine… it hurts so much.” A droplet rolls down his cheek, his face crumbling in pain that Chevalier had never before seen on his lover. The image of his body slouched with a bruise upon his pale skin alarmed him. 

“What?” Chevalier finds himself muttering, confusion written upon his face with brows knitted together. 

“There is unrest wherever I turn.” Philippe sobs, grabbing Lorraine’s hands and bringing them to his lips. But between their meeting flesh, his tears sink. His pale skin looked even fairer now except for the pink flush of his cheeks from the alcohol, his hair falling down in waves instead of the usual curls. 

“What are you talking about, mignonette?” Lorraine attempts to help Monsieur rise from the bed, grabbing his shoulders and an arm cuffed around his waist but as Philippe gets to his feet, he struggles away with eyes that flicker at his surroundings, empty and void. 

“Everywhere I turn; all I see is pain. There is no relief, no joy. All Louis does is complain about his lack of sleep but I haven’t restfully shut my eyes since I got back!” He falls into Lorraine’s arms, body limp and quivering. In anger or in pain, he did not know. He struggles to hold the other up, arms cuffed around one another as Phillippe sobs into his nightshirt. 

He could not bring himself to reply. He had no idea of the hardships his Philippe was facing. But he ached to see his face and bask in the beauty of his sharp features so he found his fingers reaching under Philippe’s chin to tilt his head up. He shook violently in the Chevalier’s arms, swallowing back when looking into his eyes. 

“What has war done to you…?” He whispers before his forehead naturally gravitates down to Monsieur’s. Under the sharp stench of alcohol, he can still smell it, the natural scent of his lover’s pale flesh. He craved nothing more than a kiss but held back, afraid of his inability to stop once started. 

“Save me.” Monsieur whispers under his breath. “You were going to shoot yourself. And leave me here, in this godforsaken palace, with no one to share my burdens. Must you make me ache so?” 

“Philippe.” The Chevalier carries him towards the bed where he lays him down but Philippe’s hands cannot help but pull Lorraine with him from the linen fabric of his shirt. “Your wife. Thomas-” 

“For God’s sake! Stop it! Please! Stop it. Thomas is no one. I care not for him and I never will. Liselotte… I have a duty I must fulfill. She told me to shut my eyes and fantasize to make myself adequate but all I could see was you. Don’t you get it? I am haunted by the mere image of you and you dare question my loyalty!” The Chevalier could not bring himself to speak, shattered by the state of a once great man of stone. Philippe rarely showed emotion. Lorraine had figured out mere flinches of looks to read him better than any ever had. But he no longer had to read. His lovely Monsieur spills all, along with tears, trembling in his tight embrace, a fluff of anger and agony. 

“You’re not well, Philippe.” Is all he could spit out. 

“Damn right, I’m not well. All I see is blood.” He heaves, trying to sit up but the Chevalier holds him down. “Blood everywhere. Death.” He chokes on his own breath, bringing the Chevalier to further tighten his arms around him. His hands find Philippe’s face and caress the messy head of hair out of his soft features, wiping away the strands stuck to his forehead along with streaming tears. 

“Shh…” He rocks back and forth in an attempt to soothe the broken man in his arms. “Look at me. Look at me!” He makes Philippe hold his gaze, his way of stabilizing the drowning boat Monsieur was on. “There is no blood! Look. There’s no death.” Chevalier leads Monsieur’s hand towards his golden head of hair, making him feel their soft texture. He knew Philippe always loved to play with his hair and often had mentioned they soothed him. “I’m here for you.” 

“There is no one to turn to.” Philippe shudders, shaking his head as he struggles out of the Chevalier’s warm embrace. But the blonde does not give up easily. He holds him down and doesn't let him break away. “There’s no one.” 

“There’s me! Philippe are you truly as blind as your taste in hats suggests? I’m here and I always will be and there is not a war or a wife that can keep me from loving you. If only you let me!” 

“There’s no one.” Philippe continues to whisper, head shaking violently as he repeats the words over and over again as if it were anthem, a soldier’s chant before battle. Mere words that had the power of a tragic memoir. 

“Let me! Please. Please.” But he does not stop muttering to himself in pain. “There’s me! There’s me, my love. There’ll always be me. Why must you pain me so?” 

“Please, do not leave me. If it is Thomas’ death you want, I will drive a sword into him myself. If it is my wife, I will send her away. Far. She never needs to come between us. Please. Tell me what I have to do to earn your affections.” The Chevalier, though tempted by such offers, places Philippe’s head down, upon the fluffy pillow underneath as he whispers calming words in an attempt to lull the man he loves. 

“Nothing. Nothing, just stay with me tonight. Do not leave and we shall be one once more.” He begins to undress him, swiping away the top half of his clothing and pulling off his shoes only to toss them on the floor. Phillippe struggles and shifts nonstop as if his body is inflamed and his skin no longer fits, growling as he attempts to hold onto the Chevalier. 

Their lips meet in a warming dance that has them both shivering in delight and the rocking boat Monsieur is on begins to steady. 

He no longer protests, does not let out a single cry. He no longer mutters such vile lies to himself, does not hand out a single gaze. Instead, he gives the Chevalier permission to lay with him and coil his being around his trembling body and to caress his untidy hair back as he rests on him like a child against his mother’s bosom. 

It pains Lorraine to see the man he loves in so much pain and cannot help but wonder if it is all his fault. It is odd how he has hidden it so well, but with just a few drinks, he has come undone, unraveled before him, intoxicated and broken with seemingly nothing to lose. 

The sounds of night prevail as the candle near them weakens until all that is left is smoke, crawling into air and disappearing, just like all his dreads and sorrows when slumber took upon him. Lorraine knows not if the threat was eliminated. All he knows is that when Philippe is awake once more, he will not be drunk on alcohol. Just pain. Maybe. Or maybe he will have forgotten, and the night, in his mind, will have faded away just like the candle’s flame, in the deepest crevices of his memory along with all his bothers. On one hand, he itches for an explanation, for Monsieur to tell him what was behind his behavior. On the other, he never wishes to speak of it again. It is passed, like a jolt of lightning. Lost in mere moments. 

But he did not have to wait long for an answer. 

The Chevalier trail to sleep for a little, but not for long. Philippe wakes him with a brief stir, as if he were dreaming the worst before feeling his lover’s openhearted embrace around him, warding the nightmare away. Lorraine drifts off again when Philippe rests easy. His skin is hot against his lover’s, as if his body is unleashing all ache that has kept him awake so late into the night, drenching his veins in alcohol. 

The night goes by with little sleep, unsound and hostile. For Lorraine. He cannot seem to get his mind to shut and let his body dissolve away. 

Instead, he looks out the window while cradling the little one in his arms, until cool morning air finds itself upon them. He sees light in the distance, the sky brightening too quickly. It scares him for he had never before seen the sky at such a vulnerable moment when it is free to do as it pleases before all awaken. Free from the judgment of us humans and from the restless noise of the busy day under it. 

His uncovered arm is almost frosty by the time the room starts to light up with the sky. The atmosphere is too chilly at this hour, even though it is the peak of summer. France is like that. So, he shifts to try and toss the sheets on his naked arm as well, careful not to awaken his lover that slept soundly in his arms. But when he goes to pull the sheets out from under himself, his chest moves and Philippe stirs awake. The Chevalier whisper to him, to try and soothe him back to sleep with soft words of comfort that he can hold near along with the Chevalier’s barely clothed body but it is no use. 

He looks up at Lorraine, shame written all over his softened features. They are no longer cringed and crumpled by throbbing. They are the features of a child, full-on innocence and remorse, soft as if he had just left the wound. The glowing aura of an angel swirling him. 

Lorraine reaches his face to his and with shut eyes, feels their noses touch, feels his nose touch Philippe’s cheek, his forehead. He rubs his face against him, craving something deeper than any word he could utter right now. He lets him feel how he wishes for them to be one with the way he holds him nearer and clutches him closer, but when he does not respond, the Chevalier is taught that sadness still lingers heavy in Monsieur’s chest but he cannot say he does not feel the same. 

“You’re still here,” Philippe whispers in a way that Lorraine does not recognize if he is questioning or stating, but whichever one it is, surprise renders his tone. 

“I’m still here.” It is the only thing he can think to say, soothing Philippe’s unrest. His back rises and falls from steady breaths as the Chevalier is tickled on his chest by his deep exhale… relief, as if he had assured him that he is in fact real and not a figment of his imagination. 

“Forgive me.” His body rolls up, their skins separating from one other with a tingly sensation after a night of being stuck together. He lets himself fall on his back, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Forgive me.” Philippe repeats his apologies under his breath, ashamed of his actions. 

The Chevalier rolls over on his stomach and reaches to meet his lips that whither him away with them until he is a molten entity, his mind, and body mush. For the first time, he does not mind it. He wanted to give over. To submit. He wanted to be his, branded by the Monsieur’s love. Ruined for all those that may come after. 

“Did you mean what you said?” 

“Will you hold it against me?” 

“Possibly. The next time you’re about to slice me, perhaps.” 

“That may be very soon.” Philippe makes the Chevalier chuckle as the stone expression he often wears returns, once more blocking off all emotion except for those ones Lorraine has learned to read in his eyes. 

“There’s my Mignonette.” Lorraine’s smile forces Monsieur to mimic it in the soft way only he knows how. Less from the lips and all from the eyes. “Now!” The Chevalier tucks himself further into the sheets before laying his head on Philippe’s bare chest. “You must vow to me. You must confess your wrongdoings and ask for forgiveness before vowing to love me now and for the rest of time.” Philippe’s grin says it all as he gazes lovingly into the Chevalier’s eyes. 

“You look quite handsome under faint light.” He whispers pressing his nose into the Chevalier’s cheek. 

“You always look handsome, my dear. But, you know, it is quite early. Four? Five. The sun hasn’t even risen properly. No one will be up for another few hours.” Lorraine’s suggestive tone makes shivers run down Monsieur’s spine. He plays it off, gazing out of the window instead. “Must I spell it out of you? You know well enough that frivolity is a favorite of mine.” 

But Monsieur’s cheeky smirk falls into a crumple of pain that seems to swallow back a possible sob, alarming the Chevalier to ask if he spoke out of turn. But Philippe shakes his head and pushes his body higher on the pillows, forcing the Chevalier to also lift. He does not let it go but instead drapes his body on Philippe’s laying half on him under the covers. 

“How can you have me like this?” The crack in his usual gruff tone breaks Lorraine’s heart and he is left with no option but to embrace his lover, scooping him into his arm. 

“My dear, I will have you any way I can. If only you let me.” 

“I cannot vow to you that we will not quarrel again. But I do vow to let you. My pain does not release me. But when your comfort is near…” He trails off but the Chevalier gets their meaning. “I will forever be in your debt.” 

“That is no issue. You can always pay it off in shoes and coats. I can have the tailor here by noon.” 

“Shut up.” Philippe cannot fight the glint of smile that sparkles upon his lips, kind and warm. 

“Not a chance.” The Chevalier leans forward, almost capturing Monsieur’s lips, so close to them he can feel their sweet scent again, ready to be devoured in the following hours. 

“I know.” Philippe’s laughs, hands roaming Lorraine’s face before closing the tight space between them with the warmth of a kiss, so deep and powerful it leaves them both trembling and aching for more. 

“Get your breeches off, Mignonette.” 


End file.
